Afterglow
by foxcub
Summary: You hold the best you can...


Title: Afterglow

Author: foxcub

Rating: R (hard language and, well, hard adult situations)

Pairing: Sawyer/Kate

Spoilers: Whatever the Case May Be

Disclaimer: I'm J.J. Abrams by day and Jennifer Garner by night.

Summary: You hold the best you can…

Notes: This is the sequel to my previous S/K fic "Gin and Gemini". I don't consider it another chapter, because, um, I don't like chapters ;-p Thanks to all who begged for this to be written, you really know how to make a girl feel special! Hope this was worth the wait!

Comments and feedback are snuggled with love…

* * *

"Kate…are you drunk?"

"None of your damn business."

God, it was too hard to walk on sand when gravity wasn't totally on your side. She concentrated very hard on picking one foot up at time. _Straight line, straight line…do the alphabet backwards…_

His hand closed around her arm and jerked her to a stop. "I think it is."

She jerked back. "No. It's not."

He let go and she started her lame attempt at walking again. It was so dark…she had no fucking clue where she was going.

"Dammit, Kate, _stop._" She ran into something solid.

His chest.

Without thinking, she pressed her hand against the front of his shirt.

Huh. Solid.

Just like Sawyer.

Her throat tightened. "What did you want, Jack?"

She heard that tired sigh she was coming to know very well. "Do I always have to have a reason to come and find you?"

"I told you I'd come to the caves later." The sand was doing weird tilting moves.

"No, you didn't. You said, 'maybe later.'"

"It's not later yet." Okay, the gravity thing was not working for her. She needed to be on her ass, not her feet. Her knees melted out from under her and she sank to the sand.

That sigh again. "God, you're wasted. Where the hell-"

"I don't need to hear it right now. Not from you."

The pause was long. "Who were you drinking with?"

Her heart suddenly decided to put in some overtime. She didn't feel like lying right then.

"Sawyer."

An even longer pause. "I didn't know he had alcohol." His voice was quiet.

"He just found it."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"And he shared. With you."

"Yeah."

"For what?"

"The use of my beach house in Maui." She really didn't want to be a bitch, but alcohol always did that to her.

Alcohol always kept her from apologizing, too.

Then she felt a shoulder brush against her and she knew he was sitting beside her. She couldn't see him in the dark but she knew he was there, wanting her in so many different ways it scared the ever living shit out of her.

_I dare you to kiss the Doc the way you kiss me._

She didn't want that voice in her head. Not when she could still taste rum and cigarettes in her mouth.

The skin of his elbow was touching hers; it felt warm. And she realized he wasn't saying anything, that he was just sitting there and letting her be.

Fuck it all. She wanted to take that dare. Maybe she'd regret it when sobriety hit, but for now she'd take it. Curiosity killed the drunken survivor, and all that shit.

How she found his mouth in the dark, she'd never know. Woman's instinct, she figured. He sucked in a startled breath and she used the opportunity to swipe her tongue inside. She actually tasted something like mint; maybe the Good Doctor was hording the toothpaste. Maybe he was the one Sawyer called "metro".

_Dammit._ She squeezed her eyes shut.

Kissing. She was kissing Jack.

She slid her hands across his shoulders, wishing they were bare and not wanting to admit she wanted a comparison. His hands finally came up to frame her face as he slowly returned the kiss, and it was gentle and sweet. He'd probably very rarely fucked on a first date. She'd bet her ration of bananas on it.

Her hands tightened around his biceps and she kissed him deeper, wanting something more and not being able to wrap her damn brain around what it was. His beard stubble raked against her chin

_No deals this time, Freckles_

and his fingers sunk into her hair

_I ain't stoppin' ya_

and she found herself trying to get as close to him as possible, to see if she fit him the same way, if his hips were the same width.

She started to push him back to the sand when he broke away.

"What…are you doing, exactly?" He was panting.

She was _so _grateful for the dark. She didn't have to focus on anything.

"I thought that was obvious." She licked her lips. The rum taste was still there.

"Kate…" _Not like this. _She could already hear it on his voice.

"Fine." Lowering her arms, she pulled back and held her knees to her chest.

Always the gentleman; she didn't know why she was surprised.

"I'm not just gonna leave you out here alone." She heard him stand. "C'mon, I'll take you back up the beach."

"I'll be okay."

"No, you won't." His hand was back on her arm. Back to where they started.

"Jack, it's okay. Really."

The gentleman cracked a bit. "Okay. Whatever you want." He let go.

And he left her there.

She closed her eyes and laid her chin on her knees. Maybe she'd pass out right here.

_Nice playin' with ya, Freckles._

Jesus. He _always_ had to have the last word.

* * *

"What the hell did you say to her?"

He was standing at his feet, shining a damn flashlight in his face.

"What the…fuck, Cowboy?" Coherent speech had to claw its way out of his throat. He swallowed hard and dragged himself into consciousness, rolling onto his back in the sand. "If you're doin' a damn sobriety test, I'll save you the trouble. C'mere and let me breathe on ya."

"What…the hell…did you _say_ to her?"

"Say to who?" God, if he'd just turn that goddamned light off…

"Don't play dumb with me, Sawyer."

"Doogie, I'm about five sheets to the wind right now. I don't have the energy or the will to play dumb with you. Just turn the fucking light off and tell me what the fuck you're goin' on 'bout." His hand absently scratched at his chest and he felt bare skin. Very slowly, it dawned on him that his shirt was missing.

Very slowly, _everything_ dawned on him.

Freckles.

A sober Sawyer would've come up with a very biting, very witty remark that would strike at the heart of Doc's manhood.

An inebriated Sawyer, however, started giggling.

"Holy shit, she _didn't!_" He covered his face with sloppy hands and laughed for a good minute. "Don't tell me she kissed ya."

Doc was not amused. Priss. "Yeah, she did. And now I see it's your fault."

"_My_ fault! Hell, I think you mean it's the birds and bees' fault." He kept giggling, even though Doc still hadn't turned off the flashlight.

"Damn it, I wanna know what you said to her! It's not like her to-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He pointed a limp finger in the general direction of the flashlight. "I don't think you or me or anyone else can honestly say what is and ain't like her. You may think you know her, but ya don't."

"And you do."

"Didn't say that, did I?"

"Then what_ did_ you say?"

He quit giggling and let his dimples do all the work. "Now there's the Double Jeopardy question. Why the curiosity? I'd think you wouldn't want to hear all the gory details." He finally forced his eyes open, blindness be damned, and heaved himself into a sitting position. The glare of the light kept Doc in silhouette.

"All I want to know is what you said to her to make her…jump me."

"Jesus, you can't even say it."

"I don't think I need to."

"Why, 'cause you're too much of a puss?"

"No, because it'd give you too much satisfaction."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say, yet you already know I'm gonna be happy 'bout Freckles sexually assaultin' you? Shit, Hoss, you give me too much credit."

"I've never given you credit for anything. Ever."

"Well, then." His eyes had adjusted to the light and he could finally see Doc's face. "I guess I have no reason to lie to ya. Truth is, Freckles and I were playin' a little bit of Truth or Dare. And I dared her to kiss you."

Doc's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"

He ignored the slight irregular thump in his heartbeat. "That's it."

The flashlight lowered. "You…just dared her to go kiss me?"

"Jesus, man, you're the one with the fuckin' PhD. It's not too hard a concept to grasp."

"What'd you get in return for the alcohol?"

He gave him his biggest, sunniest, dimple-infused grin. "The pleasure of her company."

Ooo, he liked seeing that muscle in the Doc's cheek twitch.

"She kissed you, too."

"Maybe. You askin' me a direct question?"

"No, I'm stating a fact."

"Ah, not only is he a bona fide hero, he can read minds as well!"

The flashlight came back. "Alcohol doesn't change who she is. So don't kid yourself into thinking whatever you two did means something. It doesn't."

"Sounds to me like the green-eyed monster's taken hold, Doc." He ignored the sudden tightening in his throat.

Doc laughed, sharp and cold. "God, you'd love that, wouldn't you? Fine, if it helps you sleep at night, go ahead. Think what you want." He clicked the flashlight off. "But I didn't have anything to barter when she kissed me."

Then Doc's shadow turned and left, leaving him in sand and darkness.

"Why don'tcha knock next time, _Jackass!_" He didn't yell it nearly as loud as he wanted. Something was wrong with his damn throat.

Still, he couldn't have Doc thinking he'd hurt his feelings or anything. Fucker.

* * *

It wasn't until several days later that he realized his booze stash was dwindling, and not because of him. She was the only other person who knew what he had; he'd made damn sure of that. He wasn't about to have his tent turn into a fucking bar.

They'd kept their distance since that night, until he'd seen her scamper off into the trees alone on more than one occasion. The girl didn't have an ounce of sense, what with Crazy Psycho Kidnap Guy runnin' around.

So he'd followed her. He had to knock_ some_ sense into her, damn it.

Until the discovery of their little pool yesterday, he hadn't really known where he stood with her. But then she'd smiled at him, make a crack about "southern perverts", and he figured she didn't think he was a total asshole.

If only he'd never heard of fucking Halliburtons. They'd been back at square one ever since.

Then he'd noticed his lack of alcohol and he knew they needed to have a talk.

She hadn't been on the beach at all that day, and he'd heard mention of her hanging around with Doc. But instead of looking for her in Cavetown, he somehow found himself back at Blue Lagoon.

She was sitting on a rock by the water and he saw the bottle in her hand.

"So you're the little thief."

She didn't even look up. "You didn't hide them very well. You're losing your touch." Her voice was very low, almost smoky. Almost…like tears. And alcohol.

He came up beside her and crouched. He wasn't concerned; he just wanted to see how much more of his stash she was hiding. That was all.

"Hey…" He ducked his head in close to get a look at her eyes. She swung her face away. "You okay, Freckles?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

She sniffed, and he saw that it was completely unintended. And that her bottle was empty.

"Any more where these came from?" He gently took the bottle from her fingers.

"A couple. I threw 'em away in the water."

"Freckles the Litterbug. The world's comin' to an end."

He expected some sort of response, but got nothing. Only white noise from the waterfall.

He'd never been one to comfort. His life outside of Mystery Jungle was sorely lacking in that department. Comfort was for the weak, and he was used to dealing with the weak in other ways.

He watched her wrap her arms around her middle in a solitary hug and sigh.

She was anything but weak.

He eased himself onto the rock, close enough to where his knee touched hers.

"What's on your mind, Freckles? Did Doc give himself a concussion tryin' to bust that damn case open for ya?"

She didn't look at him. "No."

"So why all the mopin'?" Goddamn it, he wasn't built for this kind of thing, and it made him nervous.

She shook her head in slow motion. "Just…don't. You're not the one that needs to be dealing with this."

He felt an odd pain somewhere around his heart. "And what the hell is 'this'?"

"Nothing. It doesn't concern you."

"But I bet ol' Doc knows all about it, don't he?" It was a juvenile, extremely fucking pathetic thing to say. He was never supposed to be this easy to read. But he'd said it and it was out there.

She bent her head low, her hair hiding her face from him. When she spoke, her voice sounded old. "This doesn't concern you, Sawyer." There was finality in her words.

He wanted to grab her chin and force her gaze. He heard sadness and defeat and dark melancholy in her voice, and it fuck it all if it didn't just rip him up inside.

But it didn't concern him. Lady's choice.

Doc hadn't had to wrestle and bargain and get knocked around to know her secrets. He'd just had to be there when she came to him. Simple as that.

"A' right." He detested how hurt he sounded. "I ain't in a mood to pull teeth."

He was pulling his knees up to stand when her hand floated over to rest on his arm. Her fingertips were cold.

And finally, _finally_, she looked at him, and the tears were there, just as he thought.

"You want a truth?" she whispered.

He swallowed. "Sure."

Her eyes did an outline of his face and came to rest on his mouth. "I'm a liar."

There was one small moment, one fraction of a heartbeat where she waited for his reply, waited for his judgment.

He let out a sigh and actually smiled. "So am I. Big fuckin' deal."

She kissed him.

His smile had left his lips parted, letting her swipe her tongue through his mouth with slow ease; he could taste vodka there. Yet as much as he knew he shouldn't, he wanted this physical contact from her. He couldn't have her secrets, but at least he could have this.

But where she'd felt strong and alive before, now she was nearly ephemeral in his arms, like at any moment she'd vanish and he'd wake up.

So maybe he wouldn't have this after all, he thought as her fingers slid softly down his stomach to his jeans.

He broke away, needing air. "What do you want?"

Her small, quiet pants were nearly lost in the roar of the water. She shook her head.

He cupped her head at the base of her skull, fingers lost in all those curls. "Then say you want this."

Her eyes closed.

"Say you want _me_, Freckles. I wanna hear you say it." He sounded hoarse.

Her breathing grew shallow as her fingers carefully, slowly started undoing the buttons of his fly. God, he wanted the feel her hands on him again, but not just yet. He grabbed her by the wrists with one hand, the other still in her hair.

"_Say it." _

He felt the vibrations in her arms as she shook slightly. A tiny drop of a tear hung on her chin.

"No." Her voice broke on the syllable.

Lady's choice.

He almost told her to lie to him. But he'd said enough pathetic things for one day.

Instead, he released her hands and kissed her, letting his mouth tell her that he accepted who and what she was, even if she'd never tell him. Hell, he'd already made masochism an art; no reason to stop now.

Her fingers finished with the buttons, and as her hand slid under the denim, she thrust her tongue deep, feeding him urgency and thinly masked desperation. He tried to counteract her frenzied touches with soothing strokes of his hands over her shoulder blades and spine, but it wasn't what she wanted, and he knew that. It was why he let her pull his jeans and skivvies down to his knees in one fluid movement, like she'd had plenty of practice.

He didn't want to care about that. So he didn't; he shoved all the caring and shit to the back of his brain the best he could as she crawled into his lap, her own pants and underwear gone. Her hands tugged at his shirt and he helped her strip it off.

It hit him rather suddenly that he hadn't even helped her undress.

She quickly shed her shirt and was then completely naked to him, save her bra, and he already knew that wasn't going anywhere. Her thighs straddled his hips and in the next instant she was lowering herself onto him. Just like that, lickety split.

"Wait." His hands gripped her shoulders hard, thumbs pressing into her collar bone. He clenched his jaw so fucking hard against the simple urge to sink into her, into heat that was ready and waiting for him. But goddamn it, he didn't want it to be like this.

Not with her.

"I ain't good at healin' shit, Freckles." His voice lacked any strength. It was hard to talk around the pulse pounding in his throat. "Nothin's gonna change."

There was so much inner turmoil in those green eyes of hers, it was like looking in damn mirror.

She whispered, "I know," and he shut his eyes tight as he sunk so deep into her.

He didn't guide her; he smoothed his fingertips over her upper thighs and let her set the rhythm. With small, circular thrusts, she found the pace she liked best, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. They were chest to chest, the tips of her nipples brushing through her thin bra against his skin with every move. He swallowed the groan in his throat and focused on her lower lip, nipping it gently with his teeth only to immediately soothe with soft laps of his tongue. Tiny mewing sounds started to filter from her throat as her movements picked up speed, and he began meeting her thrust for thrust, unable to let her keep all the control.

He kissed his way down her jaw to her ear, then her neck, where he could still see faint remnants of his previous branding. He traced the mark with the tip of his tongue and she moaned, her arms tightening their hold. It was then he decided to go ahead and moan as well, because he needed to; she felt so fucking incredible, and he'd never been great with praise.

But the instant he growled his approval, something changed in her. All the desperation in her movements seemed to slowly fade away, and their pace slowed to a gradual ebb and flow.

And for the moment, there was real intimacy.

With the slightest pressure against her lower back, he gently forced her down with him, keeping her chest flat to his as he laid back on the damp rock. Their bodies never parted ways; rather, the new yet vaguely familiar position caused the static ticking between them to burn brighter, hotter, sharper. He knew his back would pay for all this later, but he didn't give a flying fuck; he'd scrape his ass against a wall of sandpaper if it meant getting her to look at him like she was now.

Like she was looking at him for the first time.

As her hips gave delicious, tight little thrusts, she slid her palms up his chest, meeting them together just over his heart, and he could feel it thudding fast and heavy against the skin of her hand. She reached up and carefully brushed the hair out of his eyes, her shallow pants becoming more and more sporadic.

God, she was killing him and she didn't even have a clue.

He shut his eyes, wanting it over, wanting to be far, far away from her and away from feeling like this.

But…fuck…she was…so…_God_…

He dug his thumbs into her hipbones and gave himself over to her. Every bit.

And just as he fell over the sweet edge into darkness, she braced her hands above his head and pressed her forehead to his. Her whimpers blended into quiet sobs and he could feel her body rising, building momentum. There was one split second, the calm before the storm, and in that second he heard it breathed against his cheekbone:

"_Sawyer."_

He caught her when she fell.

* * *

_fini._

Endnotes: My summary quote is from "Mary" by Scissor Sisters (because I cannot seem to come up with my own!). Many thanks go to halfdutch for the late night critique, and to moosewizard and Heidi for making my stories feel loved ;-)


End file.
